


The falling never stopped

by Sp00ky_Titty



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chronic Pain, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00ky_Titty/pseuds/Sp00ky_Titty
Summary: I wrote this amidst a bad flare up last week, and I forgot I wrote it honestly.This is just a quick, less than 600 words fic about Crowley trying to save his pride :")
Kudos: 5





	The falling never stopped

"I don't want your pity." Crowley’s words are clenched tightly between his teeth. He is curled up on the ancient wooden floor of the bookshop.  
"It isn't pity." Aziraphale huffs back, sitting beside him, hand laying it next to his. Not touching, but offering his hand to the demon if he chose it.  
"Then, pray tell, what is it?" There is a momentary silence.  
"Love!" Aziraphale nearly shouts.  
"Oh, please. I know pity when I see it, and I'm tired of it." Crowley curls tighter into himself, bringing his arms around to hug his knees, only to cause a suddenly jolt of pain in his lower back.  
"Crowley-"  
"No! I don't want to hear it, I'm tired of being treated like I'm an ancient glass artifact or something!" Crowley argues between inward hisses of pain.  
"Well, you are ancient" Aziraphale jokes, and the demon begins a giggle, before abruptly stopping in its tracks.  
"I don't like being pittied." He mumbles more to himself than anyone. "I already know it's all shitty, but I don't need the constant reminders.” A pause. “And I don't need help. I'm six thousand bloddy years."  
"My dear-" Aziraphale began to reach towards the red head, only to be swatted away.  
"That! That right there, stop that!" He shouted, golden eyes sharply peeking out of the tangled red hair.  
"Stop doing what?"  
"That." He vaguely gestured towards his angel.  
"Me? Stop being me?" Aziraphale’s face fell.  
"Yes! No! I don't know!" Crowley abruptly sat up, waved his hands all about. "Don't ever stop being you." He says in more of a whisper. "Just-"  
"Just what? Stop being kind to my best friend- only friend- just to save your pride?"  
"That's not what I'm asking of you!" He cuts the angel off loudly, causing a startle from the blond.  
"But it is!" Aziraphale stands, towering over Crowley. "Your leg gave out, and you hit the floor. You've hurt yourself."  
"I'm fine." Crowley’s voice is small, eyes looking at the wooden floor he began subconsciously picking at.  
"Then stand up."  
"Okay, I will." Instinctively, Crowley reached for something to pull himself up with, face growing red with embarrassment. Aziraphale fought the urge to give him a hand just as he has for the last many, many years. Although he will never admit it, Crowley’s heart fell when he reached out, only for no hand to hoist him up.  
"I've got it." The demon still didn't look into Aziraphale's expecting eyes, knowing he knew that he won the argument. With great effort, Crowley pushes himself off the ground, fumbling forward a bit, but not falling.  
"See?" All too soon, he was on his way to hitting the ground, but this time, he was caught by Aziraphale.  
"Let's just take you to the couch, yes?" The angel sighed.  
Crowley mumbled something the angel didn't quite catch.  
"What was that dear?" He asked, voice soft.  
"I said," he huffed in response, "the couch hurts my legs more, like this."  
"Oh." Aziraphale's eyes had grown even softer, if that were even possible. "Well then, how does the bed sound?"  
"Stairs." Crowley ever so helpfully says.  
"Piggy back ride?"  
"'m not a little kid!" Crowley objects. Heavy silence follows.  
Aziraphale, whose arms were currently around his waist to keep him upright, acts as though he were just about to let go, causing the demon to grab hold of said arms rather tightly.  
“You bastard.” Crowley wheezes out.  
“Piggy back ride, then?”  
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”


End file.
